Lord Help Me
by HigherMagic
Summary: WINCEST. Just some drabble from Sam's perspective about where things stand with his brother after a few months of their relationship. Also a small lime. I Do Not Own Supernatural.


**Lord Help Me**

**W I N C E S T =D**

**& Just a little drabble. Hardly any sex at all. Barely a lime.**

**(I didn't proof read this, like, AT ALL D= Sorry. x)**

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I hate this, how much my body begs for him, and yet how wrong I know this is. I can't help it; I can't help but respond to the beautiful scent, strength that practically oozed from his being. The feeling of Dean behind me, his warm body trapping me in its heat and luring me into a sense of complacency, willing to be molded and carved so that my being would fit utterly and completely with his…

I love it. But the feeling is bittersweet.

Because every touch he lands me, I know he has touched each and every one of his other lovers in the exact same way. Each technique has been honed by years of getting women into his bed, of finely tuning each and every one of his moves, his lines, his smiles. He knows just how to play me, how to play anyone, to get what he wants.

But I love him. How can I not?

He's my brother.

"Sam…" His voice is low, his arm tightening just for a moment around my torso for an anchor, as he shifts his body closer to mine. His hard chest lines itself flush against my back; heating my spine and making me relax instantly. Another well-played move, brother. His breaths are rough, rugged like the rest of him and I can feel the sharp sting of stubble lining his jaw as he presses his face into the back of my neck.

"Sammy, talk to me, please." My childhood nickname. I used to hate it when he called me that…but now…just hearing it has me almost in tears. He sounds like he could almost love me, when he calls me that. More than when he actually says the words, because I can't believe him. I don't allow myself to believe him. As long as this stays to meaningless sex, no one gets hurt.

I should have been smart enough to realize that never would have stayed. I love him too much. And my stomach and chest physically hurt with the knowledge that he will never love me back in the same way.

But I cannot deny him, so when he next demands I speak, I answer him; "What do you want me to say, Dean?" His hold tightens for a moment, because it is the first time since all this shit started that I haven't called him by some other term of endearment, or a shortening of his name. I used to call him 'D' as a kid…as a kid…that seems so long ago. I've grown way too much in these past few years, since Jessica…God, Jessica. What would she think of me, if she could see me now? Or mom? Would she be ashamed of me, for pining after my brother in a way that was so unbrotherly; for opening my body to him and letting him completely control my heart and my mind, so I was nothing more around him than a mindless slave? How would I be able to face her, ever, if such a thing as Heaven existed?

"Jesus, Sammy, I just want you to talk to me," he replies, and his voice is weak with relief that I have finally broken my silence. It has been six days since I uttered a word to him that was not about research, or about the next hunt. Ever since the last town we stayed in, when I'd seen him chatting up that motel receptionist. The man has no shame.

I simply repeat my question. What does he want me to say? I would gladly pour out my heart to him, if he hadn't already ripped it open. I couldn't keep enough inside of me now to just give to him; it had all leaked onto that dirty motel carpet. Instead, I can only try and force words out of my mouth, with a throat that suddenly feels like it is swollen shut under the weight of repressed tears. My body convulses in heaving sobs that I can't make leave me, no matter how much I try. But oh how I want to! I want to rip myself away from his warmth, his body and his life, to branch out on my own like I had tried before Jessica was stolen from me, but I couldn't make myself leave this bed! His hold was too strong, my resolve too weak to pull me away.

"Shh…Sammy, please…Calm down." His hand is in my hair, soothing me with strokes like he used to do when I was younger. Fuck that; try last week, when I was plagued with yet more visions; memories of Jessica and visions of Dean, trapped, tortured, killed. Visions of people I'd never known, but would suffer if my brother and I didn't help them. Sometimes I felt like we should never sleep, because every time we did another life was lost that maybe we could have prevented.

But now is not the time to dwell on such things.

"I…I can't do it, Dean," I finally manage to choke out, the pressure on my throat alleviating some as the tears finally break from their dam, underneath my eyelids and run their trails of salt down my cheeks. "I can't do it. I can't let you touch me like this and know that you've done it to so many other girls, so many other conquests. I don't want to be a conquest, Dean."

_That_ makes him still. He draws himself away from me ever-so-slightly, and I almost shift back when I miss his soothing warmth from my back. But I cannot stop; the floodgates have opened, and now I must do naught but let the waters flow. "Who is it you imagine when you fuck me, Dean? You never say my name, you never fucking _look_ at me." I didn't want to sound like such a lovesick _girl_, but that's how I felt. I felt used; a means for Dean to take out all his aggression and pent-up energies; a convenient hole; a willing slave. I couldn't let myself fall into this routine. It would kill me.

"Sam, I only think about you…" he tries to begin, but I cut him off, my words just as angry and savage as he is when he hunts. When I was abducted by the Benders, I had _known_ he would come for me, that he would always look out for me and rescue me. When he had finally arrived, my heart would have swelled up so much as to have burst from my chest. But it was covered in lacerations now, from the knowledge that I was never enough; would never be enough.

I wanted him hurting just as badly.

"I _saw_ you with her," I snarled, not able to look at him. My body was tense, hands fisted in the scratchy motel bed sheets. Only one bed, of course. Dean always thought ahead. And I knew I had struck home when he stiffened behind me. "What was her name, huh Dean? Stephanie? Claire? Or were her words too muffled when you had your cock shoved right down her throat for you to even make it out clearly? Fuck, do you even _care?_"

I knew I was going too far. I knew I should have stopped right then, but nothing would have stopped me at that moment. My anger was making me strong, making the tears dry and leave no trace of their existence behind. In a flash I was on top of him, my body pinning his more muscular form down with relative ease, considering he was too stunned to fight me off. At first. But by the time retaliation had even formed in his mind, I was speaking again.

"Go on, Dean," I taunted, and I know I shouldn't have. "Were you going to imagine her when you were fucking me blind tonight?"

_And that_ definitely set him off. His beautiful dark green eyes grew noticeably darker; anger permeated his expression as he almost _snarled_ at me. My hands had been gripping his wrists, either side of his head and keeping them still, but that quickly changed as his hands found mine, linking our fingers together so I couldn't pull away and he pushed himself up off the bed, my locked arms meaning I was forced into a sitting position on top of him. How had I gone from being in such a dominant position to one of submission; straddling his lap? I could feel his rock-hard cock right underneath my ass. Normally I would rock against him, make him fucking _want me_, but not today. Not tonight. If he wanted me he was going to have to fucking work for it.

"You should _know, _Sam," he growled, letting my hands free and instead gripping my hips, wrapping his arms around me so I couldn't move away – as though I had any intention of doing so – and pulling me even closer to him, so I was flush against his body. Christ he was so _warm…_I couldn't help myself when my arms found the familiar place on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and looking down into his dark irises. They were still angry; he was still angry. That much was evident in the hard lines of his tense muscles, the set of his jaw and the potency of his glare.

God help me; he's going to kill me one day. I swear it.

That is the look of someone who's been to hell and back, and in our profession, that was literal. Every time he entered me he gave me a taste of that delicious burn. I always wanted more of it.

"What should I know?" I snapped in reply, trying to match his glare with one of my own. I'm sure I failed, but that didn't stop me.

"You should realize that I would _never _do that to you. I love you, Sammy." His voice had grown surprisingly tender, but I wasn't going to fall for it. The cheating bastard knew just how to play me, but I had a few tricks of my own; it would make or break him.

"Prove it," I hissed, my hands suddenly grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt, near-wrenching him close to me. His eyebrows pulled together in concern and confusion; had I finally snapped to him? Did I give a damn? No and no. "You heard me, _D._ Fucking _prove _that you love me!"

"What would you have me do?" he cried, and in that moment I heard the desperation in his voice; he would do anything it took to make it up to me, whatever offense I was trying to blame him for. Bastard. I'll make him regret those words. Let's see if he's so eager after my plans for him tonight.

"Let me top you."

He was still at my demand, my request. My order, more like. Because if he refused me this…I don't know what I would do. Sure, I would like to tell myself that I would pull away, never let him close to me again in an intimate way, and we could go back to being the demon-fighting brother duo we'd been before all this shit came into play. But of course…feeling like those don't just disappear. I would never just feel brotherly love towards Dean. Not after this. Not after everything we'd been through.

I needn't have worried, for less than a minute later he swallowed, and met my gaze steadily, before he nodded.

At that action, the breath was almost knocked out of me. Had Dean – my brother, the leader and the protector, the hunter – honestly just agreed to let me…have him? So completely…to penetrate his body and wreck it from the inside as he had done to me so many times already? To be honest, my conscious mind had never accepted the possibility that he would agree, and the fact that he did almost made me change my mind; he had agreed. He didn't need to prove himself any more than that.

Unless he was trying to call my bluff. If he planned that he'd be sorely disappointed.

Haha. Sorely.

My smirk of victory was large, and I'm sure there must have been some look on my face or spark in my eyes, for I saw his own flash momentarily with…nervousness? This night just kept getting more surreal. I pushed him down with my hold, so he was once again on his back, and my fingers began their usual exploration of the body I had come to know so well. Often times Dean would allow me several minutes to trace along the lines of his body; humoring me, I think. He always seemed to be anyway, because we both knew I'd end up the one on the bed being fucked six ways until Sunday. As the dominant here, I could take my time, torture him as he had often tortured me when he was feeling playful or sadistic.

_There are many tricks I've learned from you, big brother. I hope you're ready for them._

First, the shirt had to go. Dean's chest was my third favorite part of him; after his face and his cock. The shoulder with his intricate tattoo, which stood out with such stark contrast of black against the tanned, sun-kissed skin. If Dean ever became an indoors person I don't know what I'd do. He helped me remove his shirt, tossing it to the floor somewhere in our motel room as I lowered my lips to his chest, kissing around his collarbone first; a more responsive part of him. I had memorized every secret little nerve-ridden part of him that I could, ready for a time like this when I would be able to lavish my full attention on him, able to take my time and temporarily ignore my own need, when I was taking care of my big brother.

I ran my nose along his collarbone, inhaling his deep masculine scent; he smelled of leather and forest and sweat and _Dean_, and the combination would be the best aphrodisiac in the world if I could bottle and sell it. My tongue snaked out, trailing along the sensitive scar that ran from his shoulder, about an inch long that aimed right for his heart. He'd gotten it, strangely enough, in a human brawl with some guys who decided that they'd like a piece of man-ass that night, and had decided upon me as a target.

I can still remember Dean's words; _"Don't even dare taking what's not yours, fuckers. That boy's mine." _Such possession had laced his tone, and watching him fight for me, protecting me yet again, had been such a Goddamn turn-on. Thinking about it now, it's all I can do to stifle my moan against his skin, right above his heartbeat. I could hear it, strong and steady and racing underneath his ribcage. His breathing had sped up too, and I loved that I had this effect on him. My hands found support on his abs, keeping my upper body lifted, but with enough curve that I could arch my hips into his and tease him as he had done to me so many times without effort. I was significantly lighter than him without so much muscle, so I had little worry about crushing him, and so I took my time worshipping every inch of his glorious chest with my mouth and occasional trails of my fingers. I memorized each shudder and whispered breath of my name; for I was sure I would never hear them again.

"_Dear Jesus _Christ, _Sammy," _Dean muttered, his hands flying to my hair when I reached his jeans. He propped his head up to look at me; met my eyes as I merely smirked at him, feeling powerful for once in our relationship. _I _held all the cards now, and there was no way in hell I was going to fold with my killer hand.

His jeans came off with ease, followed by his boxers; he wore them loose enough for ease of running in a tight spot, and so it wasn't hard to push them down and off his legs. He was completely bare before me while I still had on my jeans. Again, the blatant shift in power had me on an adrenaline high, rife with power and the feeling of dominating my elder brother; the one who had always bested me in everything we both tried. And that included sex. He satisfied me in a way that – and I loathe to admit this – even Jessica hadn't. It was one thing to fill someone, and quite another to be filled.

But I _needed _this tonight. I needed to know he held nothing back when he was with me.

I nuzzled the skin below his belly button lightly, feeling his hard cock against my neck and chest. My hand found his base, gripping him tightly like I knew he enjoyed, and I began to stroke him to a steady rhythm; slowly, squeezing on the way up like it would be if he were pulling out of me. I had learned the best ways to enhance pleasure for him when he was fucking me. Because I'm a giver like that. When he would pull out of me, I'd tighten my muscles so it felt better for him, and relax just in time for when he thrust back in, because it would hurt if I kept myself tight. Well, more than it usually did. And the pace was normal for us too; Dean gave me plenty of time to get myself adjusted to the feeling of being invaded like he did, because usually we were doing it at a very inopportune time and had forgotten lubricant, and so needed to take things slowly.

I wouldn't be slow with Dean. He was a big boy; he could take it like one.

But he was also a virgin, in that respect. I had to be gentle. Just not slow.

As though for the briefest moment our minds were in sync, Dean reached over his head to the bedside table, grabbing the bottle of lube that we always reflexively put there, because we both knew what happened at the end of each day during a hunt. I smirked as I grabbed the bottle, releasing his shaft and loosing a little whine of loss from his mouth. I couldn't help but laugh; such a pretty little sound.

"Something funny?" he grunted, once again lifting his head to narrow those beautiful dark eyes at me.

"You make such pretty little sounds. I hadn't noticed before."

"You make the same ones, Sammy," he replied with a smirk.

"That must prove we're related," I snapped in reply, irritated at the shift in power; my submissive partner was _not _allowed to talk back at me, and I think my response startled Dean for a moment, before he lay still and silent beneath me for a moment as I quickly pulled off the rest of my clothing, letting it join his in a dirty heap. I moved to kneel on the bed, in between his parted thighs as I opened the bottle, letting a hearty amount drizzle onto my fingers. As soon as I closed the cap and tossed the lube aside, Dean bent one of his knees, lifting his thigh up and away in readiness; someone's an eager little whore…but I suppose I'm guilty of the same wanton expression; the same absolute, all-consuming need. I could relate to what he was going through right then. I remember the first time he took me; it had been a lot like this. In some sleazy motel room, lying flat on my back and being dominated by my older brother.

Such a fucking turn-on, even as he called me a whore and ploughed me through. I had thought I would break that night.

Now it was his turn.

I circled my first finger around his hole, teasing him. I wanted to hear him fucking _beg_ for it, but I knew that probably wouldn't happen. He was nervous, and I was always the more compassionate of the both of us. I connected with people; he didn't. I tried to help; he never did. He just fucked and fought. That should be his motto.

Without warning I pushed my first finger in, and he tensed around me in reflex, trying to fight the invasion, but I would not be denied. My lube-free hand caught his erection again, pumping him to simulate fucking me one more as I pushed my finger more deeply inside of him. He let out an angry hiss at my actions; the lack of compassion I showed towards him, but I merely smirked. Let him know what it felt like the first time he did this to me. Let him feel it.

I was gentler with my second finger, giving him a bit of warning before pushing in. The look of tense pain on his face was both heart-wrenching and delicious. I knew exactly what he was feeling, and I could sympathize…and I felt the cold exterior I was trying to put on slipping. Fuck it…I loved my brother; I couldn't do this to him. I couldn't take him like he had taken me…Like I was just another whore to be bedded and dumped at the next hunting time. And unlike the countless other girls he had lain with, he couldn't get rid of me so easily.

I pulled my fingers out of him, ashamed as I looked away. Not once since I'd closed the lube bottle had he made a sound, given any indication towards me to stop, but still…it felt wrong. Like a violation. I was demanding this of him to prove his love for me…and I shouldn't need it. I was a sick bastard for feeling like I did. I could feel the tears building behind my closed eyelids again as I looked away and felt him shift on the bed to a sitting position. Without a word he found a grip on my hips and thighs, lifting me up into his lap so our erections were trapped between us. I wrapped my arms around his neck in the familiar pattern and buried my face into his pulse, my final round of sobs breaking through. He was silent through it all, stroking a hand up and down my spine as I calmed.

I felt like a monster. He loved me, and what I had almost done to him…felt like rape. It was wrong. It was shameful.

Mom and Jessica would surely be ashamed of me now.

"Shh…Sammy…it's okay. I'm here," he murmured, his voice just a little huskier from his arousal, and I felt my body jump just a little in reflex at the familiar tone, the one I had come to know and love over the many nights. When I drew my head away just a little, I could see his shoulder a little darker than the rest of his skin, soaked from my tears, which I hurriedly tried to wipe away.

But he caught me. He took my face in his hands and made me meet his gaze, though it was the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do. I couldn't meet his eyes; I was so afraid of what I'd see there.

When I finally lifted my gaze, the pure, unadulterated _love _that shone through his green irises made me gasp. Slowly, leaning forward, he pressed his lips first to my forehead, using his hands to direct my head. I wrapped my hands around his wrists, using them for support as he shifted my head upwards so he could place a light kiss to my lips.

"Sammy…let me know what's going on in that brain of yours," he said with his smirk, his smile. The smile that had lured countless other women into his bed. The roguish, cheeky, cocky smile that said 'I can get away with anything, just watch'. It was goddamn heartbreaking to see.

"…Nothing, D. Nothing," I replied, my voice thick with unshed tears and love and desire and want and need. "I just…I'm sorry." At that, my voice broke. "Oh God I'm so sorry…"

"Shh, baby brother," he said, before leaning in to silence me with a soft kiss, going deeper this time; I felt his tongue lightly run along my bottom lip, asking for an entrance that I readily granted. I gave a soft, pitiful whine, feeling his expert caress against my face and along the inside of my mouth, tasting him as though I had for the first time in…forever. When was the last time he'd kissed me? Really kissed me, like this? With so much love that I could _feel _it?

"I love you, Dean," I whispered brokenly when he pulled away, gasping for air and fully ready for the fact that he might not return the sentiment.

"And I love you too, Sammy," he said with a smile. A smile that I hadn't seen before; it reached his eyes, it was honest and it was open and it was loving. A smile he'd never used on any of the other girls. A smile that was only for me.

And I believed him.

It was probably foolish, but I didn't care. I smiled back.

Lord help me; he will kill me one day.

"Now…can I please make love to my little brother?" he asked gently, and I couldn't help but laugh. We should think this as so wrong, but it's not. Blood shouldn't keep love apart; it didn't back when man first started and it wasn't going to hold Dean and I back, ever.

"Yes."


End file.
